Keep Breathing
by suicidalunicorn97
Summary: After a Wendigo hunt, Dean comes down with pneumonia. Sick!Dean, worried/protective Sam. Lots of brotherly feels. No slash. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

It had been six months since their father died, and Sam was worried about Dean. He wasn't sleeping. He wasn't eating. He was running on caffeine and adrenaline. After getting the Impala fixed up, they'd been hunting almost non-stop. They'd barely solved a case before Dean would find another one. Often he would stay up late researching while Sam slept.

Today was no different. Dean shook his brother awake at 5:30 in the morning. "Hey, Sam. Wake up."

"Ughhhhh." Sam groaned, rolling over. "What?"

"Dude, Wendigo. Remember?"

Sam sat up slowly. Oh yeah. They'd been closing in on another Wendigo for a week now. The case should have been wrapped up by now, but the rainy weather made it impossible to track the damn thing. Today's forecast was clear, so they were going after it while they could.

"Did you sleep at all? What time is it?"

"Time to rise and shine." Dean ignored his first question, but Sam already knew the answer.

"You've gotta slow down, Dean. You're burning out." He said, getting out of bed anyway.

Dean gave no indication that he'd heard Sam, taking a swig from a bottle that looked suspiciously like alcohol. "Come on, it's not even 8:00!"

"It's 5 o'clock somewhere." Dean muttered.

* * *

They walked to the trailhead, toting their bag of supplies. Flamethrower, flashlights, guns, salt...the usual. Not even an hour later, it started to rain. It began as just a drizzle, but quickly progressed to a heavy downpour.

"I swear, God hates us." Dean said in frustration, nearly shouting to be heard above the thunder. They were soaked, and the sky was black. The whole point of hunting this thing during the day was to avoid the dark conditions that gave it the advantage.

"The forecast said it was gonna be sunny!"

"Yeah, well, when have the weathermen ever been right?"

"Over there!" Sam pointed to his left. There was a small cave. That had to be where the Wendigo was camped out.

They ducked inside, happy to be out of the rain. Their relief faded, however, when the smell of rotting flesh hit them. Dean wrinkled his nose. "Yep. This is it."

They retrieved the flashlights from the duffel bag, shaking the excess water off. The light illuminated a grim scene; human bones scattered about, creating a gruesome trail to follow. They went further into the cave, trying not to gag as the stink of death grew stronger. Soon enough, they came across the source of the smell, a body that had to be about a month old. The remains weren't skeletal yet, and it appeared the Wendigo was stripping off bits of meat at a time.

There were only three entrances to this particular cavern, so they waited. "He's gotta come back here eventually, right?" Sam whispered.

"Unless he's got other bodies stashed here somewhere..." Dean's voice trailed off as something caught his eye. A shadow, barely there.

 _It was watching them._

Sam shuddered, seeing it too. They'd seen a lot of scary shit, but Wendigos were terrifying. Dean reached into the bag for the flame thrower. He shoved it into Sam's hands, standing up and walking towards the dark figure. "Come and get me, freak!" He shouted.

"Dean, what the hell?" He barely had time to move before a blur knocked Dean off his feet.

The older Winchester gave a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. "Is that all you've got?" He gasped.

What the fuck was he thinking? Sam pointed the flamethrower above Dean, and let loose a flame spurt just as the creature prepared to tear Dean to shreds. The Wendigo shrieked in pain, its tall, lean frame contorting in agony as the fire scorched him.

Sam dragged Dean out of the way as the bastard fell, taking its last breath. They watched the body burn out, making sure it was dead.

"Are you okay?" Sam shone the flashlight over his brother, checking for blood.

"I'm fine, let's get out of here." Dean mumbled, pushing away from his brother.

They hiked for another hour and a half, through pouring rain. When they got to the car, they were both shivering. Dean cranked up the heat as they drove back into town.

"So, what was that about?" Sam finally asked.

"What?"

"You know what. You basically gave that thing an invitation to eat you!"

"It was a strategy, Sam. I was using myself as bait. It worked, didn't it?"

"Well yeah, but you could have told me about it at least two seconds before!"

"Sorry."

Sam glared. "You need to stop with this Kamikaze shit. If you wanna kill yourself, there are easier ways to do it."

"I'm not killing myself." Dean said, drumming his fingers along the top of the steering wheel.

Sam wasn't so sure. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on his brother. He wasn't sure what was going on in Dean's head, but it wasn't good.

* * *

They got back to the motel, and Dean shoved Sam towards the bathroom. "You take the first shower."

Sam wasn't gonna argue with that. He tried to make it quick so there would still be hot water left for his brother.

He was out in under ten minutes, only to find Dean, still soaking wet, passed out at the table. He shook his shoulders, and the older Winchester awoke with a start. "Hey, it's just me. It's your turn."

"Thanks." Dean coughed as he stumbled toward the bathroom.

* * *

The next morning, Sam woke up on his own. That was his first clue something was off. Dean had been waking him up almost every morning for months now. He looked over, and was pleasantly surprised to see that Dean was still in bed. Good. He definitely needed the sleep. Sam got up and rummaged through the fridge. He took out some frozen waffles and began heating them up.

Dean didn't stir at the sound of the microwave, which was unusual. He was such a light sleeper, normally he would have woken up when he heard his brother get out of bed. Sam walked over to Dean's bedside, a bit of worry creeping into his thoughts. He shook Dean's shoulder gently. "Hey, sleeping beauty."

Dean groaned. "What?"

Sam chuckled at the irony that yesterday, their roles had been reversed. "Nothing. You were still asleep when I woke up, so I figured you must have died." He was only half joking. "Want some waffles?"

"I'm not hungry." Dean began to cough, and Sam frowned.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Dean rolled out of bed.

Sam let it go, but he made sure Dean ate something before they left the motel.

* * *

"Want me to drive?"

Dean snorted. "No way. I thought we established that I wasn't suicidal."

Sam rolled his eyes. "My driving is better than yours."

"Whatever." Dean laughed, which turned into another hacking cough.

"Dude, you're sick."

"No, I'm not."

"Then why are you coughing?"

"Shut up, bitch."

"Jerk."

* * *

Over the next week, Dean didn't get better. His cough grew deeper, and left him gasping for breath. He kept looking for cases, although they kept coming up blank. Sam was thankful for this fact, but it was driving Dean insane. They were staying at another shitty motel in Michigan. Dean spent almost every waking hour on the internet, trying to find something weird for them to chase. Sam, however, spent his time trying to convince Dean to take care of himself.

"I'm fine," He always insisted.

But Sam knew he wasn't.

* * *

About a week and a half after the Wendigo hunt, Sam awoke to his brother wheezing. He looked over, expecting to see Dean hunched over the laptop like he had been the night before. Instead, he was surprised to find that Dean was actually in bed.

"Hey, you okay?"

Dean didn't answer. Sam kicked off the sheets and uneasily shook his brother. Upon touching his skin, Sam discovered he was burning up.

"What, S'mmy?" Dean mumbled. He clutched the blanket closer to his chest. "Stop. 's cold."

Sam felt his anxiety rise. Dean was really sick. He tried to pull the blankets away. "You've got a fever. We have to cool you down."

"Nooo...freezing." Another cough wracked his body, and Sam successfully removed the blanket. Dean was shivering violently.

"I know, but you're sick."

"No, I'm not."

"Dammit Dean, Would you let me take care of you for once?"

"No."

Sam made a noise of frustration. Dean had always been a horrible patient.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm fine." Dean's fever had gone down, but his cough still sounded horrible.

"No, you're not. You're obviously sick." Sam crossed his arms.

"Alright, maybe just a little. We've had worse. It's nothing."

"Still, take it easy, okay? We're not going anywhere until you're better."

Dean glared. "We're leaving as soon as we find a case."

"You know, if you'd go to the doctor-"

"Oh, hell no."

"Dean-"

"I said no!" He snapped. "It's nothing, just a bug, it'll run its course and I'll be fine."

"Geez, okay."

* * *

"Jackpot!" Dean exclaimed, trying not to break into a coughing fit. He'd finally stumbled across a freaky news article.

Sam wasn't fooled. "No. We'll call another hunter to take care of it."

"Are you kidding? Gordon told everybody you're the freaking antichrist. We can't call anyone."

Sam tried not to let the reminder bother him. "Well then I'll take care of it." He pulled up a chair. "What's the case?"

"We'll do it together, like we always do." Dean said stubbornly. "Here. Read." He turned the laptop towards Sam and went to the fridge for a beer.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. His brother could be infuriating sometimes. Well, most of the time. He turned his attention to the article. House with a violent history: previous owner killed himself; new family moves in, dad gets brutally murdered. No sign of a break in. Sounded like a simple salt and burn. It was only an hour drive...

"We're getting a little low on supplies."

"You'll live without alcohol for a couple days, you know."

"No, I'm serious. Come take a look."

Sam went over, and had to admit that Dean was right. The fridge was virtually empty, and the only thing left in the freezer was a single box of frozen waffles. "Alright, I'll go shopping. You stay here, research the case. I'll make the drive tonight."

"I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not. It sounds easy. I can do it on my own."

"If it's so easy, why can't I come?"

Sam and Dean glared at each other. "We'll talk about this when I get back from the store." The younger Winchester grabbed the Impala's keys and walked out, secretly relieved to have an excuse to leave the motel. He was beginning to get restless.

He enjoyed the silence. It was nice to drive in peace without 80's rock blaring in his ears.

* * *

On the way home from the store, he heard the police scanner come on. He turned it up to see if anything interesting was happening.

 _"All units, we have an APB out on a stolen vehicle. Blue 1982 Pontiac Firebird, License plate..."_

Ah. Car theft. Not their department. Nice model though, Dean would've said the thief had classy taste in cars.

Sam returned to the motel with the groceries. The bathroom light was on, and the door was shut. "I'm back." He called out. There was no response, but Sam figured his brother was still upset, and ignoring him. He put the food away, then knocked on the door. "Dean?"

Still no answer...

He turned the handle and the door swung open, revealing an empty bathroom. He looked around the room and realized Dean's jacket was gone, as well as the duffel bag.

It was then that he made the connection. The stolen car...

"Dammit, Dean."

* * *

Dean flew down the highway, blasting an obscure classic rock station. He grinned. It felt good to be back on the job. He'd done the research and was pretty sure it was an open-and-shut case. Simple; drive to the graveyard, dig the bastard up, and torch him. He ignored the tight feeling and slight pain in his chest as he had another coughing fit. Despite what Sam thought, he really was fine. The cough was nothing serious, just annoying.

Speaking of Sam...his cell phone started to ring. Yeah, no way in hell he was answering that. His little brother was probably really pissed right about now.

Dean made the drive in a little under 45 minutes, arriving at the cemetery just as the sun was going down. He quickly located the man's grave, and set to work digging.

He hadn't even been working for ten minutes when he began to cough more violently. His chest tightened, and he felt a sharp, stabbing pain. He stopped for breath, and resumed digging. The pain returned with a vengeance. He couldn't stop coughing. It felt like his lungs were on fire. His vision blurred and he felt weak. He leaned against the shovel for support. This was gonna take forever...

* * *

Sam had called Dean's cell at least four times. He wasn't picking up, and he hoped Dean was just ignoring him. He hated to think what the alternative might be.

 _He's probably fine._ Sam thought to himself. _We've done this a million times, and he's really not that sick, right?_

Although Dean had the common sense to turn off the GPS on his cell, it wasn't too hard to figure out where he was headed. Sam pulled up the obituary of the man who'd killed himself in that house, and found out which cemetery he was buried in.

Upon arriving, Sam spotted the stolen car. He shined the flashlight around, and it didn't take long to find Dean. (Who else would be digging up a grave this time of night?)

He walked over, fully intending to say a few choice words. But when he reached the gravesite, his scowl faded to a worried frown. Dean was gasping for air, and there was a concerning rattle every time he drew a breath. Sweat was dripping from his forehead, and maybe it was the moonlight, but the older hunter looked unusually pale. He was leaning against the shovel, and he barely looked up.

"Hey, Sammy. What took you so long?" He managed to smirk.

"You're an idiot." Sam shoved the flashlight at his brother, taking the shovel out of his hands and beginning to dig.

"Hey! I was...doing...just fine." Dean panted, rubbing his chest.

"Yeah, right."

Sam quickly unearthed the coffin, and sprung it open. He wrinkled his nose. The man was only beginning to decompose. He poured salt and gasoline on the corpse, and reached into his pocket for a light.

"Oh, shit!" He heard Dean yelp. "Hurry, Sam, torch the sucker!" Sam felt the temperature drop as the ghost made an appearance. It rushed him, but not before he had a chance to throw a lit match into the casket.

The apparition went up in flames just in time. Sam let out a breath. That was close. He let the fire destroy the body completely before shutting the coffin and climbing out of the hole.

The first thing he noticed was Dean sitting on the ground, clutching his chest. "Hey, what's going on?" He knelt beside him.

"Nothing. Just...a little...out of breath." he pushed his brother away. "Fill...fill the damn hole."

Dean was wheezing, and it sounded like he was having a hard time getting air. The rattling noise was more noticeable, and he couldn't stop coughing.

Sam re-buried the casket in record time, anxious to take a closer look at Dean. "Come on, let's get you in the car."

Dean was uncharacteristically compliant as Sam helped him into the Impala, not even putting up a fight when he took his keys and insisted on driving.

"Well, what are you waiting fo-woah, what are you doing?" Dean asked irritably as Sam reached over to feel his forehead.

"Your fever is back."

"No it's not. I'm just hot." Dean smiled at his own pun.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Ha. I'm taking you to an Emergency Room."

"What? Why?" This exclamation caused him to start coughing again.

"Really?"

"It's...nothing." He rasped. "Please, Sammy."

As worried as he was, Sam knew why Dean was so reluctant to go to the doctor. Last time they were in a hospital, their father had never walked out.

"Okay, I'll give you one more day. If it gets worse, I'm taking you in."

"Fine."

"Alright, let's get out of here. I packed the rest of our stuff, we've gotta find another motel. They're gonna find that stolen car and trace it back to us eventually."

Dean slept as they drove, which was another oddity. He never could sleep on the road, even when they were kids. Sam kept the radio off, listening to his brother's labored breathing. He was tempted to forget their deal and drive him straight to the nearest ER, but he knew Dean would be pissed. Maybe it was just the overexertion of stealing a car and digging up a body. That would certainly do the trick.

* * *

 **Hey, I just wanted to say thanks to all my readers! You guys are my inspiration, and my motivation to keep writing. I love hearing from you: your thoughts, ideas, reactions, even constructive criticism on how to improve my writing. Pretty please leave a review! :) I'll upload the next chapter as soon as I can :)**


	3. Chapter 3

They checked into another motel, a safe distance away from where Dean had stolen the car. He tossed his bag down and flopped onto the mattress.

"Hey." Sam came over and sat on the edge of the bed.

"What?" Dean asked irritably, propping himself up to lean against the headboard.

Sam reached out to touch his forehead. "I wanna see if you still have a fever."

"I'm fine." Dean unsuccessfully tried to duck his hand.

"You're still pretty warm."

"Yeah, thanks, House." Dean coughed.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna google your symptoms."

"Already done. WebMD says it's cancer."

Sam glared, looking up from his phone. "It's more likely to be Bronchitis, Pneumonia, or Whooping Cough, according to this website."

"Cool. See? Nothing serious. Those all go away on their own." Dean closed his eyes. "I'm tired. Goodnight, Sammy."

Sam ignored the obvious attempt to end the conversation. "They go away faster with medication, and any of these conditions could actually get pretty serious..."

"I'm going to sleep now." Dean mumbled, kicking off his shoes.

"Fine. But this conversation isn't over."

* * *

Sam didn't fall asleep. He stayed up, reading a book and watching Dean out of the corner of his eye. His brother slept fitfully, tossing and turning. He coughed almost constantly.

Around 2 AM, Dean buried himself under all the blankets, and was still shivering. Sam walked over, gently pressing his hand to Dean's face. His eyes widened. Heat was radiating off his skin.

"Cold." Dean hissed, flinching at Sam's touch.

"Hey, your fever is getting worse."

"It's so cold, Sammy..." Dean started coughing again, clutching at his chest and gasping for air. His breaths were shallow and uneven, and the rattling sound was back.

Sam checked his pulse. His heart was racing, pounding against his chest. This wasn't good.

Dean pushed his hand away. "You're freezing..." He tried to push a blanket at Sam. "Get...warm...you'll catch a...cold." He wheezed.

"I'm taking you to the hospital. Come on, get up."

"No." Dean glared.

"Sorry, but yes." Sam pulled the covers back and shoved Dean's shoes at him.

"No." Dean repeated stubbornly, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth.

"I could call an ambulance and they could make you go."

"Fine." Dean laced up his boots and leaned on Sam.

* * *

The hospital was about a half hour drive, but Sam sped the whole way. He kept quiet, listening to every hitch in Dean's ragged breathing.

"Sam..."

"Yeah?"

"Don't...make a deal."

"What do you mean?" Sam looked over. Dean was staring at him intensely, fevered eyes struggling to focus.

"Don't do...what Dad did." He rasped. "Don't sell...your soul...for me."

Sam gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I won't, because it's not gonna come to that. You're gonna be fine."

"I should have died, you know."

Sam looked over in alarm. "Don't ever say that! It's not true."

Dean grimaced, struggling to breathe. "Dad would still...still be here."

"Hey. Hey!" Sam reached over and gripped his shoulder. "Stay with me. We're almost there."

"It should've been me."

"No." Sam said simply, pulling in front of the ER. He jumped out and ran to the passenger side, catching Dean as he all but fell out of the car. "Help!" He called out.

* * *

 **Sorry about the short chapter, I've gotta work early tomorrow. Please leave a review! I'd love to know how I'm doing.**


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was immediately lifted onto a gurney, despite his protests.

"You're gonna be fine. It's okay." Sam said, trying to reassure himself as much as his brother as he ran alongside the nurses wheeling Dean through the hallway.

"Don't...do anything...stupid." Dean wheezed.

"We need to do a chest X ray." A technician stepped in front of Sam, blocking him from entering the room.

Between gasping breaths, Dean managed to call out for his brother. "Sammy! Don't leave me!"

The fear in his voice seemed to cut through Sam's heart. He tried to reach out, tell him it would be okay...but Dean was whisked away by the nurses.

As he stood alone in the hallway, he heard what sounded suspiciously like a fist colliding with a face, followed by panicked shout for a nurse to grab a sedative.

He cringed. Dean always had a tendency to lash out when he was afraid.

* * *

An hour later, Sam sat at Dean's bedside, trying to convince him not to rip out the IV.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I thought you were dying."

"Well, I'm obviously not. Can we go?"

"I don't think that would be wise." A grey haired doctor came into the room. "You have Pneumonia in both lungs. It's quite a severe case, you really should have come in sooner."

Dean tried to formulate a response, but his brain was still foggy from the sedative.

"Thanks, doc." Sam spoke for him.

"Of course. That IV is pumping your body full of antibiotics and fluids, I wouldn't remove it if I were you." He raised an eyebrow as Dean started fidgeting with it again.

"Dammit." He muttered, starting to cough.

"I would suggest you stay with us and continue the antibiotics Intravenously for a week, then we can send you home with the remaining course of antibiotics."

"A whole week?" Dean rasped, looking miserable.

"It's in your best interest." The doctor said apologetically. "Sam, may I speak to you outside for a moment?"

"Sure." Sam started to rise, but Dean grabbed his wrist.

"No. Anything you've gotta say, you can say it to me too. I'm assuming it's about me, so come out and say it." He scowled.

"Alright," The doctor seemed unfazed. "While we were taking the chest X ray, among other things, we couldn't help but notice the plethora of scars and cuts littering your body. When we took the X ray, it was obvious you've had broken ribs that never healed properly. I need to know if you're in any kind of gang-related trouble."

Dean laughed, which sent him into another coughing fit. He doubled over in pain. "Ohh, laughing is bad. Bad idea." He gasped.

"He's not in a gang." Sam answered, rubbing Dean's back and encouraging him to breathe. "He's just good at getting into bar fights." Well, it wasn't a total lie.

"I'm alright, Sammy." Dean mumbled.

The doctor didn't look convinced, but he didn't question them further. "Okay. Well, I'll be around. Press the call button if you need anything, particularly if your chest pain returns. I'll send the nurse in with the paperwork."

"Thanks."

Sam sighed, rubbing his temples. "I can't believe he thought you were in a gang."

"Well, it probably doesn't help that I punched some random guy's lights out when they tried to X ray me." Dean smirked.

"That's not funny."

"Come on, it's a little funny."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Are you really gonna make me stay here for a week?"

"You bet your ass I am!"

"Ughhhh." Dean groaned. "I hate hospitals."

"I know, but this is good. You're getting better. Just don't punch any more nurses."

Dean gave a small smile. "No promises."

* * *

 **Thank you so much to everyone who's read and reviewed this story! I've run out of ideas, so I think I'll end it here unless anyone has thoughts on how to continue. Please leave your feedback! Thank you all :)**


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